Guarded Hearts
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: (AU) When renowned novelist Richard Castle killed off his main character he hoped it would lead to something extraordinary and unpredictable. What he didn't expect was to find himself in danger, his life in the hands of a woman who guards her heart as closely as she guards her secrets.
1. Chapter 1

This weird idea popped into my head, thought I'd give it a whirl. With massive thanks to my lovely friends for encouraging my madness and Kat especially, for the image.

* * *

He stands off to the side and a long way in the back where no one can notice him yet. He likes to take these few seconds, before he slips out and joins the masses, just to soak it all in.

The crowd, the atmosphere, the really inane and cheesy praise spilling from Gina's lips as she talks him up. With every word she proves to him over and over again that making her his wife was a huge mistake, but keeping her as his publicist was a stroke of genius.

All work and no play Gina, with her pinched smile that never quite reaches her eyes and slightly too puffy blonde hair. She was perfect for _this _ and everything else they had played at being, once upon a time, was now firmly firmly in his past.

Hence the black sharpie she had forced into his hands barely half an hour ago.

Ducking his head a little further into the room he cringes, slides his shades higher, presses them over the bridge of his nose and uses them as covert cover when he rolls his eyes.

Twinkle lights. Really?

What about his latest, and last, Derrick Storm screams orange twinkle lights? Because, whatever it is, he needs to fix that crap right now.

They are in the trees, these little orange blinking things. Strung from the lights that hang across the rooftop in great, sweeping garlands, bundled into vases on tables and draped, festooned absolutely everywhere. It's too much and wholly out of place in his mind, not that he's sure he's ever really pictured this night coming to fruition.

But if he had and he did, it's not and would never be, this.

He's written a novel bidding farewell to his most iconic character, a complete and utter annihilation of a death, from which he can never return - probably never, never _say_ never- and _twinkle lights_ are the image they want to project?

He rolls his eyes again, folds his arms across his chest and leans back into the wall.

* * *

His pen glides over the skin of her chest as he signs his name and chuckles, adds an extra flourish to the C of Castle and grins up at her.

"Call me when you're ready to wash that off." He drawls, handing back her pen and preening when her skin flushes pink and she smiles widely. She slides the strap of her dress back into place, recaps the lid and turns to her friend with a lascivious grin.

He hasn't given her his number, wouldn't even think of it, but _that_ thought doesn't even enter her head as she gloats to the women behind her. He's keeping up the act, as instructed, and he pretends not to hear Gina's voice falter through her introduction, knowing she's seen exactly _how_ he's been working the crowd.

He is newly single after all, even if their divorce is long since finalized and their split amicable personally long before they made it public.

He smirks when he hears the laugh in her voice, the indulgence and annoyance in equal mix, and he resumes his steady path. He works his way through the crowd, turning at the call of his name, the flash of a camera. He signs another chest, shakes a few hands and laughs as he makes his way towards Gina, to center stage as she planned it.

He hears her approach the end of her speech with perfect timing. The speech she refused to let him help write, -_"Really Rick, how much of a narcissist are you?"_ - and he sucks in a breath, not nervous -maybe the smallest bit nervous- but more applying the persona.

Then he hears her voice, loud and clear, ringing through the crowds.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the master of the macabre, Rick Castle."

* * *

She pulls the sunglasses from his face, and he hates when she does that. The fake smile back in play as she loops her arm around his waist and turns into the flash of camera light.

"What kind of idiot kills off his best selling main character?" She grimace-smiles, pats his chest, plays up to the cameras and he can't help it, he plays along.

"Are you asking as my blood sucking publisher, or my blood sucking ex-wife?"

HA!

That gets to her and she turns into him, her eyes narrowing. "Oh, is that what you're doing, punishing me by killing the golden goose?"

He smirks, "Oh come on, I may be petty and short sighted, but I'm not _that_ petty and short sighted."

"Then why?" She asks, again, for perhaps the millionth time, he's officially lost both count and the ability to care. She turns on the spot and strides away from him, leaving him no choice but to follow, holding his glasses up and over her shoulder, making him reach for them like a little kid earning his reward.

"Writing Derrick used to be fun." He answers honestly, pocketing the shades and matching her stride, but the narrow hall keeps him from walking at her side. "Now it's like work."

"God forbid you should work." Her head bounces and even from behind he knows when she's mocking him. "I mean you could've retired him, you could've crippled him. You could have had him join the friggin circus."

He sighs, drops back a little sensing this is going to go on for a while and he snags a glass of champagne from a tray as they glide past it, he winks at the waitress for good measure and hurries on. He makes a face behind Gina as she continues to berate him, not caring if it's childish.

When she treats him like a child he always feels like he's doing her a disservice if he doesn't respond in the appropriate _inappropriate_ manner.

"But no." She stops and turns and he schools his face, smiling serenely and sweetly at her. "You had to put a bullet in his head."

"Yeah." He laughs, because even though he shouldn't have, he really enjoyed writing that. "Real messy too, big exit wound." Her eyes dart over his shoulder and he turns sensing a presence. Another fan holds out her book for him to sign and he indulges happily, sort of, watching as Gina's fake publishing smile slides right back into place.

There is no truth to her eyes whatsoever, it's one of the things he won't miss.

"Don't worry. Derrick Storm is not the golden goose here, I am." He reassures her, signing the book, before handing it back with what he can only hope is a flirtatious smile given the conversation he's currently engaged in, "I wrote half a dozen best sellers before him, what makes you think I'm going to stop now?"

She puffs out an all too knowing breath, "Oh I don't know Rick, could it be the fact you haven't written a word in months? Perhaps the unending supply of creepy death threats and suspicious fan mail that just keep rolling in and yet you refuse to do anything about?"

"I do not need a bodyguard." He growls firmly as they rehash it yet again, "And you can't rush genius."

"Genius Richard?" She scoffs, "Try blockage." Her lips curve up into the first real smile he's seen in months, that happy _got you where I want you _ look that drives him crazy in the worst ways. "My sources are very reliable."

"Well they're wrong." He tries to be defiant, tries not to stutter, but he can see it in her eyes. She's been talking to his mother. He puffs his chest out but her smile only gets more intense, more delighted as she plays him, backs him into a corner.

"They better be, if I don't have a new manuscript on my desk in the next three weeks Black Pawn is prepared to demand the return of your advance." Her lips glisten and she moistens them again, grinning evilly.

"You wouldn't dare." He challenges, his smile finally as fake as hers was not ten minutes earlier.

She winks, long and slow, "Try me." She steps back, "Just try me." before she turns and walks away, shaking her head at him.

"You know I already returned that advance." He calls pettily, making her stop in her tracks and spin to face him. "I spent it divorcing you."

Gina nods, grins her acceptance and steps closer so only he can hear as she speaks, "Money well spent. Oh and you're getting that body guard. Black Pawn insist, while your life is in danger," She rolls her eyes, letting him know she thinks it's nonsense as much as he does but happily punishing him anyway. "And until you've re-discovered your ability to write. We couldn't possibly leave you wandering the streets without protection."

"Gina." He tries, his voice deeper and appeasing as he flirts.

She laughs, holds up a hand and stops him before he can go any further. "Save it. It's already arranged, the agency sent someone over today, they're already here, have been all night." She pats his chest, "It's a done deal."

He turns on the spot suddenly feeling like he's being watched, his eyes wide as they dart around the room, hopelessly trying to work out who it could possibly be.

When he turns back to question her further Gina has already disappeared into the throng of people. He grinds his teeth together, downs the remainder of his champagne in one and goes off in search of his mother.

He's not the only one who'll be in need of a body guard.

* * *

Martha drops her purse onto the bar top and eyes her granddaughter with sadness, "Really, doll-face, who does homework at a party?" She slinks closer and nudges the edge of her textbook.

Alexis glances up, for barely a second her pen darting over the paper in front of her, "I have a test next week." She replies, dipping her head closer to her books so the swathe of red hair falls in front of her.

Martha worms closer and rolls her eyes, "So do I. Liver function. You don't see me studying."

Alexis smiles at her but her head drops immediately back to the book and sighing Martha resumes her perusal of the bar. "Alright," She finally calls, "Give me a hit of the bubbly."

"Make that two." He calls over his mother's shoulder, sensing he's going to need it.

"Hey, kiddo." She turns and stage whispers dramatically, "Sales must be slipping they're only serving the soft stuff."

He sighs, brushes it aside and takes quick refuge in the presence of his daughter, leaning in to kiss her cheek as she smiles up at him.

"Hey Dad."

"Hey sweetie." Once more into the breech, he turns, "So! Mother..."

He moves to stand in front of her as she shushes him, waving her hand and glancing around with a smile, "Not so loud, I'm still hoping to get lucky."

Enough is enough.

"Did you tell Gina I was having trouble writing?" He tries not to grind his teeth, knows his mother well enough by now to expect nothing less, but her behavior still grates.

She knocks his cares aside like it means nothing, shaking her head, "Oh, I told her nothing of the sort." She scrunches, one of her tells and he knows if he stares at her long enough, intently enough - "I may have said something about spending your days moping in your underwear, waiting for post time at Belmont."

Bingo!

Over her shoulder he spots Alexis slowly lift her head to stare at her grandmother incredulously.

Martha's hands land on his chest and she pats him, seeking to soothe her misdemeanor, "But hey, you're an artist. It's expected."

"We had a deal." He reiterates, for his own benefit as much as his mothers because he still can't quite believe he agreed to it."I let you live with us but you don't talk about my work."

"What's to talk about?" She teases, missing that it's totally the wrong moment to do that, "You haven't done any since I moved in."

Alexis pokes the woman from behind with her pen, "Gram!" She admonishes, and he can see the hurt and shame his daughter feels for him all over her face.

"Well he hasn't." Martha smiles, laughing not quite sure hows she's backed herself into this corner or why he's taking it so personally.

He reaches for her hand and squeezes her fingers trying to get through to her, "Whatever I have and haven't done, I would just appreciate it," he claims both of her hands in his and squeezes harder still, staring her down "if you wouldn't share it with my ex-wife."

"Oh what's the big deal?" She challenges, glancing over his shoulder already distracted, she opens her mouth to speak again but he holds tight to her hand.

"The big deal is they are threatening to take back my advance." He pulls her in a little closer, his eyes darting to Alexis as he whispers harshly, "They think the _problem_, " He emphasizes the word and Martha nods understanding, "Could be affecting my ability to write."

"You mean the threats?" Alexis asks, leaning her head into one hand and watching him intently. His daughter is far too wise for her own good sometimes. His mother slips past, finally free and heading out into the crowd looking for her latest conquest.

"How did you-?" He starts, focusing on his daughter, "You haven't been on the fan sites again have you?" He steps towards Alexis, "Because you know how I feel about -"

"Ew, no." She shakes her head, "I learnt my lesson the last time. Gina told me." She shrugs, and picks her pen back up, "She thought that might be why you weren't writing. Maybe you were worried?"

Her eyes hold his, the watery blue so familiar and tender as she watches him, wise beyond her years and far too knowing.

"Is it?"

He sighs and leans into the bar, catching sight of his mother flirting "You should have me committed." He grumbles.

Alexis follows his line of sight and laughs, "For what? Letting her move in? I think it's sweet. But don't change the subject." He pushes a glass of champagne towards her and she pushes it back towards him shaking her head. "Are you worried Dad? Should I be worried?"

"No," He shakes his head again, "Gina's already on it." He leans in towards her conspiratorially, "We are being _guarded _ as we speak." He grins when her eyes open widely and she looks over his shoulder into the crowd.

"Seriously?" She's her father's daughter in that moment as she tips up onto the toes of her almost-flat heels and balances on the bar-stool getting a better view of the crowd. Her eyes dance as she assesses the people milling around them, the fangirls and servers, the taggers on and the actual fans.

Then the reality hits her and she sits back down on the stool heavily. "Gina must be worried Dad." Her voice is quiet and she's too clever for her own good, she really is.

"Pumpkin, it's a precaution." He reassures her, "Gina's way of playing it safe and annoying me all rolled into one." He smiles weakly and when she doesn't immediately respond he grins, forces himself to be jovial and make it look like he doesn't care what it means. Because the fact she has gone to the lengths of hiring someone (someones?) makes him wonder how seriously he should be taking this whole situation.

He changes direction, his fingers on the glass in front of him, "She wants me writing again." Her brow furrows as she listens, "You want to know why I killed Derrick?" He challenges, "There were no more surprises, I knew exactly what was going to happen every moment of every scene. Life shouldn't be like that." He nudges the champagne glass towards her again and quirks an eyebrow, "It should be wild and inappropriate," He grimaces when she pushes the glass back towards him shaking her head. "Don't you want to have wild and inappropriate stories that you can't tell your children?"

He pouts and she finally gives in and laughs, "I think you have enough of them for the both of us. That's probably what got you into all this trouble in the first place."

He rolls his eyes and pulls her glass next to his rather than see it go to waste. "I'm not in trouble, and you're missing the point." He pokes her arm.

"Okay, Dad, what's the point?"

"Writing Derrick, it became so predictable." His eyes wander briefly, nothing holding his interest. "I'm your biggest fan." He mocks, "Where do you get your ideas?"

Alexis nods, grimaces again, "And the ever popular 'will you sign my chest?"

He swigs from his champagne glass again, or maybe it's hers he's lost track, and smirks, "That one I don't mind so much."

She glares at him, his daughter the teenager, glares. It's cute. "Yeah, well, FYI I do."

Oh, not that cute.

He drops the glass to the table and tries to explain, "Just once, I'd like someone to come up to me and say something new."

"Mr. Castle?"

He turns at the woman's voice, a pleasant lilt to her tone he would normally enjoy if it wasn't for the fact he knows exactly what's coming next. He forces the playboy smile back onto his lips, forces his hand into his jacket pocket and removes his sharpie, brandishing it with a wicked grin.

"Where would you like it?" He flirts, faltering through the last word as the woman before him stares him down, one eyebrow arched high on her forehead.

"I'm Kate Beckett." She glances down at his pen and up to his face, giving him a look that warns him to keep the lid _capped_. "I've been assigned to protect you." She waits and when his mouth hangs open, she tries again, "I'm your bodyguard Mr. Castle." She scoffs as if she hates the word and falls silent.

There is a snort from behind him, his daughter's body suddenly draping over his shoulder as she grins into his cheek and snatches the pen from his hand. Her lips hover over his ear as she whispers loud enough for only him to hear, "That's new."


	2. Chapter 2

She watches. Silent and focused, her head angled to one side and her bottom lip slipping between her teeth as she puzzles him out.

He's not, at least from a distance, as cut and dried as she expected or was led to believe he would be.

There are hangers on, of course there are, he's famous. Renowned novelist and international bestselling author Richard Castle, whose books she not only reads and collects but is somewhat fascinated by, and here he is flinching as the woman before him screeches loudly about being his biggest fan.

She's his biggest_ something _ alright, Kate observes, taking in the way she casually snaps open her dress and thrusts her chest out at him. It simultaneously makes Kate wary and disgusted.

But she's working so wary wins out.

She assesses the woman from head to toe, knowing that with Espo on the door, she's got about a ninety percent safe zone that no one is getting in here with a weapon. She trusts her team to have her back, she couldn't do this if she didn't.

But he is_ still_ her client, and she is still _wary_.

She lifts her hand to her ear, presses at the small device discreetly located at the outer edge of her earlobe and hears the barely there click of the microphone.

"Got a visual." She murmurs into the cuff of her sleeve, turning on the spot and smiling casually at the waiter as he walks past. "Keeping my distance, but I'm staying with him, these people are nuts."

She hears the snicker on the other end but she ignores it, resuming her assessment of the situation.

She's _not_ wrong.

The woman with his name now in large swirly print across her chest is currently fanning herself with her hands, almost miming air drying her nails in a ridiculously girly and over the top way that grates at Kate's skin.

But he's on the move and she has to stay focused.

She follows, silently slipping into the crowd that surrounds him when he nears the stage, and Kate begins to mingle with his - for want of a better word - groupies. She smirks when one looks her up and down, knowing she stands out a little too much, and next time she will forgo the pant suit in favor of a dress.

Nothing anywhere as revealing as these bimbettes are wearing, but fitting in to any given situation and blending into the background are both a part of her job. And she takes her job very _very_ seriously.

* * *

She trades off with Espo when the writer and the publicist who hired her - Gina the ex - walk the gauntlet of paparazzi. Their descent from the roof makes it easy enough for Kate to slip ahead and take a turn around the bar before he arrives.

She finds nothing out of place, save for the gaudy, over the top twinkle lights and a sedate looking teenager already propped up at one end of the bar.

She must be the daughter.

There is nothing of her father about her in looks, and given his reputation and the serious way the girl pours over the text in front of her, Kate wonders exactly how alike the two are in personality as well.

It's not really any of her business, but it is one of the intricacies of her job that intrigues her. What makes people tick, and how they interact with each other divulging so much about their personalities.

The still waters of the Castle daughter spark her curiosity and Kate starts to wonder how much truth there is behind the things she was told about this somewhat unorthodox family.

The thought slips from her head as quickly as it came when someone barrels into her back. Kate turns, arching up into the balls of her feet, one hand slipping under her jacket as the other rises to her ear in readiness.

"Sorry, dear." The woman grins, pulling her green dress from her heel, where it has obviously snagged. "Took a turn too many on my_ re_turn from the powder room."

She's gone in the blink of an eye, a cloud of intense perfume and a tinkling laugh, leaving Kate staring after her with her mouth open. His mother, the actress, darts to the bar and thrusts something at her waiting granddaughter.

Kate smirks and lowers her hand, stands down and watches as the flamboyant woman all but gets ignored.

The girl drags out her pen and taps at the book viciously, unaware of Kate watching her, of the fact that she drops back into the shadows as the volume increases and people start to fill the room.

There is a hum of awareness of all around her, but Kate keeps her eyes on Martha for just a few seconds longer, watching as she leans into the girl and laughs.

She claps her hands, drawing as much attention to herself as she can before she cries, "That calls for a drink."

Kate puffs heated air up over her face, she's going to have her work cut out with these people.

* * *

Leaning heavily on the foot that taps continually, Gina stands in front of her with this fake smile plastered on her face that Kate knows is about ten seconds away from really bugging the crap out of her.

"He has been made aware of the situation." Gina confirms, "I've had the go ahead from your boss to make the introductions, if you would just-"

"I find in these _situations_." Kate states holding up a hand to silence the woman, "That approaching the client alone tends to build better bonds of trust. Makes it feel less like an ambush." She folds her arms across her chest in defiance, the harsh lights above making the other woman's eyes dance manically in front of her.

"Bonds of trust?" She scoffs, "You're not getting_ married_. You're here to stop one of the crazy fangirls jumping him. And speaking of ambushed, look around you Miss. Beckett, does it look like he's not used to it."

"Look, Gina." Kate steps closer, her voice dropping down low and filled to the brim with warning, "Can I call you Gina?" The blond opens her mouth to protest and Kate smiles back sweetly, interrupting before she can, "Good. You hired us for a reason. We are a discreet company, it's our job to work long hours, tirelessly putting the life and needs of the client above our own." She steps closer still, "We do it fast and efficiently and we do it well."

Kate watches the woman before her shift uncomfortably, clearly not liking this turn of events but Kate doesn't care. She takes pride in the next statement as another heavy step brings her almost nose to nose with the writer's ex, "No one has ever died whilst under our protection, we have a stellar record counting some of the more well known names of our fair city as not only former clients, but friends." Kate's eyes glimmer with confidence, "In fact I believe I was personally recommended to you by a Judge and the Mayor."

Gina nods.

"Like I said, it's my job, and you'll understand that means I operate in a certain way, starting with introducing _myself_."

There is a pause, a heavy silence that falls between them and whilst Kate continues to smile serenely at his publicist, the blond fists her hands at her sides and almost vibrates with frustration.

"Fine." Gina snaps, reaching for a champagne glass as a waiter and tray slide past her. "But don't come crying to me if he bites your head off."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Kate hums, turning and rolling her eyes as she strides off. She wouldn't ask that woman for a damn thing if her life depended on it.

* * *

Kate cradles her jaw, pressing her finger to her ear as she activates the device again. The shallow click and hiss almost comforting in their familiarity.

"Yo?"

She smirks into her sleeve.

"Espo I've got the green light, eyes on target. I'm going to make myself known. You got the floor?"

"Sure thing boss."

"Espo don't call me boss." She hisses into her sleeve. How many times do they have to have this conversation?

"Pfft, you love it."

"Shut up."

* * *

Kate listens to their conversation, standing just a little off to the side, her elbows resting on the high table littered with discarded drinks.

His daughter's funny, she's impressed. They bounce off of one another with ease and control and a remarkable wisdom bleeding through their interaction that, given her age, takes Kate by surprise.

But it's through the girls beration of her father, the way she in equal parts parents him and listens attentively, that Kate finds her stride and a perfect opportunity to jump in and introduce herself.

He drops his glass to the table forlornly and turns towards his daughter sighing. Kate smirks and tries not to roll her eyes, he is dramatic isn't he? She shakes her head and listens.

"Just once, I'd like someone to come up to me and say something new."

"Mr. Castle." She starts off formerly, dipping her head to his daughter when she looks up appraisingly.

His back is to her still, broad shoulders slumped over and his head turned away, but at the sound of her voice he raises himself up and almost shimmies. Kate observes him continually, the roll of his body, the way he tips to one side and twirls. Brandishing a pen, and a smile his voice tells her doesn't really belong on his parting lips, he steps towards her.

"Where would you like...it?"

She bites the inside of her lip when he stutters through the end of his sentence, fights the smile that wants to erupt when their eyes meet for the first time. And though he manages to quickly find his grin, his swagger and charm, Kate doesn't miss the flash of surprise that passes across his face.

"I'm Kate Beckett." She glances down at his pen, when he waggles it in her direction, and quickly up to his face. If he thinks he's coming near her with that, let alone signing _anywhere _ on her body...she rolls her eyes, so _not _ happening.

He must catch her drift because the cap stays on, the pens slides deeper into his palm like he's hiding it from her sight and he 'aha's' sounding almost as if he's seeking forgiveness.

Until he winks.

Illusion shattered.

"I've been assigned to protect you." She waits when his lips part, open, close, and his eyes dart from side to side as if he's confused. She looks behind him to the bar, wondering exactly how _much_ he has had to drink before she tries again, "I'm your _bodyguard _ Mr. Castle."

Oh, how she hates that word. The sleazy connotations so often associated with it by the lesser members of her clientele, Kate has lost count of the amount of times she has heard that particular turn of phrase twisted into a skeevy innuendo.

Kate tucks her hair behind her ear, twisting a curl at her shoulder as she waits, feeling somewhat stupid now, with her hand extended and him staring at it mutely. His eyes are a lot bluer than his book jacket photos make them seem. Deeper, more intense, maybe that's just the way he's staring at her, but there is something about the penetrating way his eyes devour her presence that keeps her hand floating between them.

There is a snort from behind him, that somehow breaks the tension and draws them both from the awkward introduction. His daughter's head pops over his shoulder and she grins mischievously, snatching the pen from his hand. Then she laughs and whispers loud enough for them both to hear, "That's new."

* * *

Maybe it's his daughter's voice that does it, but somehow the light switches back on and the charm offensive reappears in full force, "Rick Castle." He grins, taking her hand in his, palm to palm so his thumb can sweep over the back of her knuckles. He tugs her towards him, stepping in as he does and murmurs just loud enough for her to hear, "Are you seriously here to _protect_ me?"

His eyebrows dance and Kate shrugs him off, ignoring the way his breath felt when it tickled her jaw, and she delves into her pocket looking for one of her cards.

"Here." She hands it to him, "That's my private work number, should you need something when I, or a member of my team, are not currently at your side, you call that and I'll be there as fast as I can."

"This says Katherine." He comments inanely, plucking the card from between her fingers with two of his own and raising an eyebrow at her as he reads. "Thought you said your name was Kate?"

"Short for Katherine." She sees him grin, like he feels he's winning something, some sort of competition that she's not even a part of.

"I like it." He smiles again and she can feel the blood rise to her cheeks, part anger and annoyance, part embarrassment and a little bit of something she's not even going to think about.

"Mr. Castle" She says testily, growling his name with menace, "I put my life on the line doing this job and I expect you to take it seriously. I am not here to flirt with you." She presses one hand to his chest and pushes him backwards, poking at him as she does, "I am here to protect you, and your family."

He laughs, and when she doesn't respond in kind his eyes narrow, his brow furrowing deeply, "Wait this is getting ridiculous, I thought this was a minor issue with fan mail." His eyes dart to his daughter, her head currently bowed over her textbook, and clearly he isn't comfortable with her hearing this discussion, "Are you seriously telling me I need to be concerned?"

"People rarely call me unless there is a problem, I thought you'd be better informed than this. You really should know what's going on."

"Ya think?" He runs a hand through his hair and huffs, loosening another button on his white shirt, his fingers pulling at the material.

Kate fights to drag her eyes away and clears her throat, "That is something we can rectify in a more convenient location." She flicks her gaze to the woman lingering at their side, back the other way to his daughter and, thankfully, he catches on fast nodding. "But for now I suggest you enjoy the rest of the party. My team and I will remain in place and tomorrow morning we can talk. What time would be convenient for you?"

He laughs, "After all this, I doubt I'll be up before Noon."

Kate lets her eyes roam over his face and for a second he thinks he's winning again, then she smiles, "I'll be there at 8am."

He groans, "I will most definitely be hungover at 8am."

"Then I suggest you make yourself some coffee before I arrive. Mr. Castle lets make this easy on the both of us, trust me when I say you do _not_ want to be the guy making my life harder." The threat behind her words makes him stand straighter, his body almost snapping to attention at the authority in her tone.

"Yes Ma'am." He blurts, wanting to smack himself in the face when she fixes him with a deadly glare.

"It's _Beckett_." She reiterates, plucking the card from where it hangs limply between his fingers and sliding it down into the front pocket of his shirt, "Don't lose that Mr. Castle." She smirks, before slipping silently back into the shadows, leaving him staring at the sway of her hips as she drops out of sight.

He breathes out heavily once she's gone, feeling this almost forgotten ripple through his abdomen, it's all so very... _inspiring_.


	3. Chapter 3

Inspiring is one word.

One very _good _word to describe the woman who breezed into his life, zapped him with an elastic snap of attitude and intrigue, unloaded a whole barrage of information on him and disappeared into the night. Guarding him from the shadows, like a lone vigilante seeking justice as she watched from her cloak of darkness.

Ooo...he grins and lets his fingers fly across the keyboard for a few seconds. Then he groans and deletes what he has written.

Rewrites a sentence. Fiddles.

It doesn't seem to do her justice. He just doesn't know enough about her. And that part of him that likes gathering information, the part of him that revels in following along and doing as much research as humanly possible, is just yelling at him that if he is going to write about her -and apparently that is looking like a very likely possibility- he needs to know more.

He likes the mystery. It gives him something to work at, a goal to strive for, an end in sight. It feels like an accomplishment and a task completed when he figures out those last little puzzle pieces.

She, the bodyguard, is mysterious.

She is, most definitely.

Because even after he made it home, a little before two in the morning, knowing he would be seeing her again in a few short hours, he can't seem to get Kate - short for Katherine - Beckett out of his head.

* * *

Kate groans when she steps out of her heels. Kicking them off one at a time and watching with satisfaction as they fly across her bedroom and clunk into the wall.

Evil, sadistic, beautifully crafted masterpieces, of pain and agony.

She surrenders the gun, taser and knife to a lock box on her dresser, shucks her jacket and starts to strip. The sanctuary of her bathroom beckons, long and loud, the wrought iron tub almost screaming her name and teasing her from the back of her own mind with it's ability to ease her aching muscles. When she's down to just her underwear Kate gathers up a couple of towels, turns the taps and lets the steam slowly fill the room.

She knots her hair at the back of her head, wispy tendrils trailing her neck and feels a tender ache that makes her roll her shoulders. But it just won't give up. Too much time spent surreptitiously glancing at people and twisting to talk into the microphone at her wrist have left the muscles crying for a release she doesn't know how to give them.

Kate tilts and curves her body, arches her back and works her fingers into the muscles in slow steady circles.

* * *

"Dad?" He hears quietly from the door. When he turns Alexis is leaning against the frame, her head tilted to one side looking both older and younger than she should.

"Daughter." He responds jovially and lifts the laptop back onto the desk to swing himself into an upright, adult type position.

"Writing?" She tests tentatively and her eyes flick to the screen.

"Sort of."

"Want me to leave you alone?" She nods her head back out into the hallway, grimacing when she hears the door click and Martha calls out she's home and she's got company. "Please say no." Alexis pleads, slipping into his office and closing the door behind her.

He laughs, "Never. Pull up a chair, stay a while." He sits forward, his smile falling away. "You okay?"

"Thinking." She drops down on the couch opposite his desk, crossing her legs underneath her and watching him with those wide eyes full of wisdom that must come from some throwback gene, because it isn't her mothers. Or his.

There is a screech from the living room and their eyes meet.

"About?"

"Beckett." She starts, and he almost falls out of his chair.

"Yeah? You...you're hmmm." He waits.

"Why are you not more worried? Or worried at all?" Alexis asks, tipping forwards in her eagerness for answers and understanding.

Castle stands, navigates the desk and sits down slowly at her side. "It's not that I'm not ..."

"Concerned?"

"Yes, or worried, or bothered. When it comes to keeping you safe, your Grams...hey, even myself, I take it seriously." He squeezes her shoulder, pulling his daughter into his side and feeling her settle back against him. "You know that."

"I do." Her voice is quiet and she pulls her knees up, curling her toes into the leather.

"It's more that I'm choosing not to decide how I feel. Until I speak to her, until I know what she has to say."

"Beckett the bodyguard?"

"Yeah."

"And once you know?" Alexis pulls back and stares up at him.

He doesn't answer for a few seconds, his arm pulling her in tighter, subconsciously keeping her close and safe. "When I know, you'll know." He finally states, waiting for her reaction.

Her elbow collides with his side and takes his breath away, his now smiling, gangly teen digging her bones into him as she speaks, "Fine, but I'm not missing school."

* * *

The hot water eases the ache, if for a few seconds, merely by the scalding heat that wraps itself around her body. Kate lets herself sink, submerging into the depths of the tub until just the tips of her fingers are still dry.

From under the heavy press of water she opens her eyes, staring up at the wavering ceiling above, relishing the burn of heat as it invades the sockets, her cheekbones melting and her lips quivering.

She can lose everything to the heat of the water.

Until it becomes too much and she squeezes her eyes tightly closed. The thunder of her pulse through her ears is too loud, the drip from the faucet that hits the still bathwater too much, too intense.

She focuses on the blackness behind her eyes but all too soon it bleeds through with blue. A sharp blue, a knowing blue.

The blue of the eyes that stare back at her from the cover of the book she is deliberately ignoring on the side of her tub.

Kate pulls herself up from the water, a heaving breath leaving her chest. She ignores the surge that ripples to the end of the tub, rebounds and rides its way back to her. She ignores the sting of air to her pupils and the tightness of her skin.

And she most definitely ignores the blue of those eyes, even though every time she closes her own they are waiting for her. She ignores it all and pulls herself up, wrapping herself in a large white towel and making her way to the living room.

There is work to be done.

* * *

Frustrating might be another word to describe her.

Somehow her face has become imprinted in his mind. When he closes his eyes he can see the outline of her cheeks, the soft fall of hair that just hits her shoulders and the arch of her eyebrow.

Maddening maybe.

No matter how hard he tries, as he sits and pictures her face before him, he cannot get a lock on her eyes.

What color were they?

He wants to say brown, but with the darkness of the club and the spotlights overhead providing him the only illumination...

Were they green?

Somewhere in between?

He can't remember and it starts to drive him crazy.

Castle kicks his feet back up onto the desk in front of him. He pulls the laptop towards him and makes himself comfortable, slinking down the leather chair with his ankles crossed on the hardwood.

The screen remains white and the cursor blinking hypnotically stays put, challenging him to get something out. There must be words in his head. A few, some, something has to be in there.

He's a writer for gods sake, this is what he does.

And yet...

* * *

There are files upon files waiting for her in the other room. Notes spread out over her desk that she has handwritten, copied, cut up, flipped upside down and taped to the walls.

She looks at everything from as many angles as possible.

The snippets of the information they have been given by Black Pawn amount to...not much, and she tucks the towel in tighter against her chest and growls. It's very frustrating, the lack of decent intel, and it's a good thing she has resources.

Tacking up a surveillance photo of Richard Castle she reaches for her phone and speed dials Esposito.

"Beckett?" His voice crackles a little slur to the word and she rolls her eyes.

"Javi, for real? It's been less than an hour, you drinking already?"

"Tough day boss." He snickers.

"You sat on your ass and took pretty pictures Espo, I did all the leg work." She flinches - pretty pictures? Where the hell did that come from?

Her fingers linger at the edge of the photo for a few brief seconds but she turns away when she feels the blush creep up her neck. Kate sighs and tries to sort through the whole mess of dribs and drabs that add up to _not much at all_.

Except her tension. It's adding to that really _really _ well.

"Yo, boss?"

"Sorry," She forgot he was on the line for a second. "You still got that contact down at the twelfth?"

"The tech guy?"

"Yeah."

"Hell yeah, bro keeps trying to set me up with some chick in the morgue. I keep telling him, a girl that hangs with dead people is gonna be _freaky_."

Kate laughs, "I thought you_ liked _ the freaky ones?" She tacks up more photos, his daughter leaving school, his mother shopping.

"No, girl, thats you." He grins, she can hear it in his voice, "All these celebs and their weird stalker fans. I'd rather have a nice simple girl with a big -

"Watch your mouth, Javi." She warns, picking up one of the notes that first caught her attention.

"Heart, Beckett, I was gonna say heart." He laughs, "You want me to put in a call?"

"Not yet." Kate grimaces, something just doesn't feel right. "I want to make contact with the client, bring him up to speed. Then we'll see. You have a good night Espo."

"You too, boss."

"Espo," She warns, "Stop-"

"Calling you boss, yeah yeah."

They hang up simultaneously, and the phone bounces from one hand to the other as she stalks the table.

Normally a new client, a new set of rules, a new game to be played and she's raring to go. But there is something about this case,_ this_ client...

It sets her teeth on edge and makes her skin tingle.

* * *

Though he watched for her all night, convinced he would see her because, honestly, she stands out in a crowd, he didn't catch sight of Kate once after their brief encounter.

Nor did his mother or daughter.

Gina - who when pressed for more information simply rolled her eyes and muttered _"Really Richard? The bodyguard?"_ before walking off - was no help whatsoever.

He sighs, his mind whirling through recent events and deliberately trying to shield him from what is happening in his loft. His!

Does private property mean _nothing _ anymore?

His mother is singing somewhere in his home, gaudy show tunes belted out at the piano with her latest catch of the day. He cringes a little when she screeches towards the high notes telling her latest beau that she's just _'A gal who can't say no.'_

He envies Alexis and the safety afforded by her closed bedroom door.

Oh, she didn't go willingly. He had had to shove her on her socked feet down the long corridor as she giggled and told him she was old enough to put herself to bed. The giggling and sliding telling him otherwise.

But as soon as she was safely ensconced in her room he had bolted for his laptop. And since then he has been blocking the caterwauling of his mother and letting himself revel in the memory of her...Beckett.

The authoritative quiver of her voice lingers in his ears and draws him away from the scary no mans land of wordless oblivion. She was all no nonsense and business-like in a way that makes him want to sit up and pay attention but at the same time mess her up a little.

She put him in his place lickety split, and in the space of a three minute conversation she's left him burning through with curiosity. She's buttoned up and it makes him wonder if he could get her to break that resolve, maybe crack a smile.

He glances at the clock, it's nearly three in the morning and she will be here in five hours. Five hours until he gets to dig a little deeper and learn a little more about the woman sent to guard his life.


	4. Chapter 4

She tucks her hair behind her ears; the ends of the strands just brushing her shoulders and the style enhancing her natural femininity. It gives her professional grace just _enough _ of an edge in the flare of the layers that it compliments the command in her stance, adding to her confidence.

She assesses everything around her. Takes in the floor he lives on, counts the entrances to the building, surreptitiously gets the name of the doorman and jots it all down.

Her eyes are wide when she steps off the elevator and it isn't because she doesn't have experience with the rich and famous. It's not as if she hasn't come across -and dealt with the temper tantrums associated with- her fair share of celebutantes.

She's thrown herself in front of the occasional pop star, shielded an actor for a week and a half, even the Mayor himself has nodded at her in passing as she surveyed the room to keep him safe.

Once in a blue moon she is forced to deal with people in the limelight and though that isn't her main source of clientele, the point is she _has_ done it before. And that isn't why her eyes are wide and bright as she walks the hallway, striding with confidence towards his front door.

He is a novelist and yes his books are bestsellers, well written novels that she devours, but the pomp and pageantry of the entry, the doorman, the fact he owns his entire floor...

He's rich.

Not just _look me as I buy the bar a round of drinks_ rich.

Mega bucks rich, house in the Hamptons rich.

It doesn't make her feel uncomfortable, in her line of work of course it can't, not that it would. She judges people on their character, their work ethic and their ability to piss her off.

So far Richard Castle's zero for three and his annoyingly haunting blue eyes are still testing her patience.

No, her eyes don't widen because he has money, but for the fact him being so wealthy in and of itself could be motive. It catches her unaware because so far they have been concentrating more on the comments on his fan sites, the letters and cards from adoring readers...

The underwear - she grimaces at the memory- that seems to arrive in a steady stream.

The threats.

But now...juggling her coffee cup and everything else she carries, Kate pauses in the hallway, flipping the page of the notebook in her arm. She balances it precariously on top of her folders and Richard Castle's file, pulling out a pen so she can write down two things; a large dollar sign and question mark.

Her stomach swirls, it doesn't feel right, like money is too obvious a motive but that doesn't mean she won't be checking it out.

She catches her fingers as they flirt with her ear and Kate ignores the tingle through her stomach, not feeling anything at all like butterflies, no. It is the anticipation of starting a new job building the theory of this case, for this client.

That's all.

That's all she will allow it to be.

She's never crossed a line with a client. She doesn't intend to start now.

Kate adjusts her folders, takes a deep breath, stands straighter. Her knock barely echos once against the rich wood of the door before it's flung wide and she is greeted by the intense vibrant blue eyes...

Of his bouncing red headed daughter.

The girl's long hair sweeps her shoulders and she bubbles with enthusiasm. She's wearing the green and blue uniform of a very select and therefore expensive Private School and Kate smiles, knowing it will make protection of the teen a hell of a lot easier should it come to that. She's hoping it won't.

"Kate..." Alexis cries, a hand on the door and a wide smile on her face that falls away quickly as she apologizes. "Sorry, _Miss. Beckett_. Hi."

"It's Beckett," She says automatically and then grimaces, not wanting to be rude but finding it necessary to maintain that professional distance. "I would say Kate but..._just_ Beckett is fine."

"Beckett?" The teen cocks her head and flings out her arm inviting Kate inside. Curiosity and naivety rolling off of her in waves.

"More professional given ... What I do." Kate shrugs and steps inside, smiling and looking around for her client. They have a lot to talk about and the sooner they start, the sooner she can lay down the law. Kate pushes away the nagging feeling at the back of her mind that it's going to be easier said than done.

"Of course." Alexis smiles but it falters and Kate narrows her eyes, the nagging feeling intensifying. "Come in but ah Dad's not up yet."

"Why does that _not_ surprise me?" Kate hums, her eyes dropping to her watch. She said eight a.m and it's 8:05.

He is officially wasting her time.

* * *

"Dad." Alexis steps tentatively forwards, opening her mouth to warn him, but Kate shakes her head. Alexis' eyes dart from the woman leaning against the door frame with her arms folded across her chest, smirk on her face, to the lumpy form of her father in the bed.

What is she supposed to do? She's torn between amusement and loyalty to her father. Loyalty wins out.

She hisses at him, "Dad, wake up."

Nothing. No response, no raising of breath, no movement or snores to indicate she's disturbed him in the slightest. Her father gives no indication he's even_ alive_ and Alexis is at a loss.

A hand settles on her shoulder, long and slender fingers curling over the joint, gentle but strong, and she jumps, turning to face the older woman. The stubborn set of her jaw, the intensity of her gaze and the tight grip of her fingers hold Alexis rapt and bemused as she stumbles to find the right words.

An apology for her father's tardiness and the urge to leap to his defense both on the tip of her tongue, but she stumbles reaching for both and in the end presents Kate with neither.

Silence falls between them and Alexis thinks she sees something like understanding on the face of the other woman.

The smirk is suddenly back on her lips as she speaks and Kate nods back towards the bookshelves giving the girl an escape route. "Let me."

When Alexis doesn't immediately grasp what Kate is getting at, she pushes his daughter, one hand at her elbow to guide her safely, relishing just a smidge too much what comes next.

Kate pauses on the threshold of his office, nudging the girl towards the living room none too subtly, giving her a reassuring smile before she closes the door in her face. Hard.

Sucking in a sharp breath Kate swivels on the heels of her boots, spinning on the spot whip-crack fast before striding into the bedroom of Richard Castle.

Her eyes drop to the bed, to the lumpus mound of the body of the man keeping her waiting. She shifts on her heels again, reaches for the door and grins evilly.

* * *

They come to him in his semi wakeful state.

Of course they do.

The best things always worm their way into your mind when you are loose and lax. Unless they decide to attack you when you are completely swamped with something else. But today Karma is being his friend and those eyes, the lush green and chocolate brown, swirled together, an intensity of hazel and sunshine, they come to him as he wakes.

Blinking languidly in the half muted light of his bedroom he moans, rolls further, slipping his hands under the pillows and pulling the sheet over his head. From the luxurious confines of his bed he groans, and stretches, determinedly popping out his muscles and dropping back into the comfortable dents his body has left in the mattress.

She is intriguing and now he has those eyes burned into his memory. Emerald and Ochre run through with golden hues and this sizzle of authority, he can focus on getting their detail down on paper. He likes her name too, Katherine Beckett. Likes the command and dignity that those syllables strung together demand.

He likes the way the shortened version rolls on his tongue.

"Kate."

There is a loud explosive bang and he throws himself upright, arms flailing as he tosses aside the sheets and pillows and sits up in panic.

"What the fu-_Beckett_?" His voice pitches high on a panicked squeak and his eyes open widely at the vision of her standing at the end of his bed. White shirt loose over the top of skin tight jeans, leather boots, leather jacket, her hands on her hips and her head tilted as she stares down at him menacingly. The dark cascade of her hair falling forwards and shielding parts of her face, but her eyes burn bright and vivid as she glares at him.

The world spins in darkness around those eyes, luminescent black holes that draw everything in, giving out nothing in the dense play of shadows and cimmerian gloom of his bedroom.

Those eyes.

Is she real? Is he still asleep? Did he conjure her from a dream?

Her nostrils flare, the press of her lips whiten at the force with which she holds them together and those eyes, those entrancing _enthralling_ eyes, drop.

Oh...

* * *

And of course he sleeps naked.

He annoys and ignores her, forces her into his bedroom and of course, _of course_ he sleeps_ naked_.

Has this man been sent specifically to test her patience?

His eyes are heavy lidded from sleep, though the blue is bright and vibrant even in this semi darkness, no doubt enhanced by his somewhat unconventional and thoroughly deserved wake up call.

His hair lies in messy disarray around his head, and what passed as designer stubble yesterday has progressed into thicker, darker shadows giving him a slightly dangerous, rougher look.

He rubs at his face, clearly torn between waking up and wondering if he's imagining it all. His hand cups the back of his neck and he stretches, thrusting his chest forwards and her eyes drop. Mapping the plains of his chest, the taut muscle and...

His hand lands heavily on his thigh and she follows it, reminded instantly once again that of course he sleeps naked.

"What time is ... Did you just _slam_ my door?" His eyes follow hers and then flick back up at the same moment hers do. Their pupils catch and lock and the_ see something you like_ smirk breaks across his face unbidden...and really pisses her off.

* * *

"Mr. Castle." She growls. And the anger rumbling through her voice should not be sexy, but it damn well is and he is suddenly very _aware _ of his naked state, aware of _her _ awareness of his naked state and that manic glint in her eye that tells him she's about three seconds away from killing him.

He smirks at her apologetically, almost, and reaches to pull the sheet around himself.

"When I make appointments with you I expect you to keep them."

He slept in. He drags his hand through his hair and stretches again, feeling like a jerk. He didn't mean to do that, but it was past five when he was finally able to get her out of his head enough to sleep.

His body had been humming with the buzz of adrenalin from the party, the need to act the part and being in the limelight always leaving him teetering on the edges of manic excitement.

Then she walked in and had him buzzing for a whole other reason. They spoke and she set his mind whirling with information and no small amount of fear.

He shakes his head and her silence bothers him, the way she looks at him like he's acting exactly as she expected he would, like she knew he would be a disappointment, a let down, a lazy-assed self obsessed celebrity.

That's not who he is, but she knows nothing about him and he sits up to apologize, maybe flirt a little too to get into her good books.

"Ah Kate," He rolls his shoulders, scoots down on the mattress and drops his feet to the floor. "It's too early for all that _Mister_ crap." He palms his eyes and pushes at his pupils, "Can't you just call me _Rick_?"

She grinds her teeth, or bites her tongue, something. Her jaw works rapidly back and forth for a few seconds and her eyes blaze. "It's_ Beckett_." She growls launching a pillow at his head that he never saw her pick up. It smacks him square in the face and lands in his lap with a soft oof and when he grunts at her in annoyance he sees the smirk of pleasure push her lips into an evil smile.

"Get your ass out of bed, Castle. I'll be waiting in the kitchen."

He watches her turn the handle of his bedroom door and he grins into the cotton pillow case still covering part of his face, pushing his luck a little further and yelling after her. "Can I shower first?"

Her head reappears around his door, one eyebrow arched high across her forehead, lips quirked in challenge. "Castle, you know I carry a gun, right?"

It's a warning. He can read that clearly in the dark flash through her pupils, but no, he didn't know she carried a gun. Castle- ooh, he likes that,_ Castle_- throws himself from the bed, grabbing pajama pants and stumbling after her, more than curious by that little tidbit of information she just threw out.

Now he wants, no, _needs _ to have the story behind it too.


	5. Chapter 5

He skids across the wooden floor, eagerly trying to catch up to her -damn she can walk fast in those heels- his feet catching in the bottoms of his slightly baggy pajama pants. They hang oddly from the angular bones of his hips after he tugged them into place, desperate to chase after her, and his toes snag in the hem, sending him skittering across the floor, almost colliding with a very irate looking Beckett.

He manages to turn that careening slide to his favour - just a little impressed with himself as he does- and Castle angles himself so he swivels around her instead, forcing her to slow her frantic march out of his office, coming to a dead stop before she walks straight into his still bare chest.

He waves his arms, comes to a stop in front of her smiling, his hands falling to his hips as he stands there proudly in his Sheriff stance, half naked with an eyebrow quirked at his own awesomeness. His voice crackles with excitement when he speaks.

"Did you see-?"

But he loses the rest of the sentence to a half garbled swallow when he looks up and meets her eyes. The slow cut of lid and pupil revealing hell fire and determination, what is it with this woman's eyes?

She's chewing on her lip for all she's worth and glaring at him like she wants him dead, maybe she does, and he smiles widely hoping it's infectious.

It's not.

"You know you can't actually _shoot _ me, right? As cool as it is that you carry a gun." He smirks, charm his easy defense as his body arches towards hers so he can whisper loudly, his head at her shoulder, "And it is really _cool_."

She scoffs derisively, rolling her eyes, one finger rising to his clavicle as she pushes him backwards.

"You can't shoot me, I'm your client. You work for me, remember." He grins, argument won.

Her mouth opens slowly and he's not sure if he's ever been genuinely scared of a woman he's brought into his bedroom before. In his life. Ever. But there is something about the way she looks at him that tells him he probably hasn't been and that maybe he should be...

She lets loose this long, low, feral noise of anger.

He is now.

* * *

Something inside of her snaps, her head feels like it's about ready to explode and OK, fine, she can't legally shoot him, but she can dig her finger in a little firmer and make him wince.

"I do not _work_ for you, Castle." She growls "You didn't hire me personally." He opens his mouth, to protest or feign innocence, she isn't sure, but she doesn't want to hear it and she cuts him off, "Be glad of that fact because if you had, it would mean you were in way over your head."

He steps back, his eyes dancing in confusion, "I was hired by Black Pawn." She continues, poking as she steps into him, "To be your _Bodyguard_. Which means when we are together, you are under _my _ protection. Effectively, you work for me."

Her fingers rise threateningly. Hard. All four fingers and her thumb poised in a sharp, almost beak looking, jab and he jumps back away from her before she can strike him again.

"I am in charge and you do as I say." Her eyes drop to his mouth when his lips open again, the man has no idea when to shut up. She hums, almost a challenge, taking in the whole of his face, eyes lingering over his chest a little longer than she intends, before she catches herself and lets them fly high to meet his gaze once more. "As for the gun..."

He nods eagerly, his lips bitten together, pressed hard and white against his longing to speak, pupils dilating with eagerness.

"I also carry a knife." She threatens, teases, informs and relishes. "In my boot." She emphasises the 'T' watching him gulp and stamping down hard with her heel, smirking when he nearly jumps out of his skin. "And no, you're right, I can't shoot you."

His shoulders collide with something and he realizes she's been walking him backwards the whole time, "But I do have a taser." Beckett raises herself up, his lack of shoes and her heels setting her just a little higher than him, and she gives him a sweet smile. "And I do _not_ like being kept waiting." She grabs his ear tweaks it hard and pulls his head down a little, barely millimeters separate them, they are almost nose to nose when she whispers harshly, "Got that?"

"Yes." He chokes, clears his throat tries again. His eyes far too wide, far too admiring and not at all as scared or sheepish as she was hoping they would be. He nods, bouncing like a freaking kid after too much sugar. "Yes I...yes."

He bounces, actually bounces on the balls of his feets and she just...has to get away from him. Pushing him away, she storms from the room, calling over her shoulder.

"Good, now let's get down to business."

* * *

He follows her into his living room, fingering the top of his ear as it throbs, watching the natural sashay of her hips as she walks away from him. He watches as she makes a small detour back towards a pile of stuff by his door, grabbing a coffee cup and humming appreciatively when her fingers slide into place around it. She cradles it to her chest. Interesting.

"Caffeine junkie, huh?" He cocks his head but she doesn't jump, of course she doesn't, this is the woman who just had him pinned up against a bookcase, but she does turn slowly on the spot and give him an appraising look.

"Everyone's allowed one vice." She shrugs noncommittally, her eyes closing as the soft steam rising from the plastic lid lifts the heavenly aroma of coffee, and he finds himself fighting a smile. One vice, five, ten, she's allowed as many as she damn well pleases if she looks like _that_ when she enjoys them.

The corner of her mouth curls up, the cup pressing slowly to the open line of her lips and her fingers coil and release, like the padded feet of a contented cat, as she inhales whatever was left of her beverage, swallowing it down in three greedy gulps.

"Re-fill?" He offers quickly, moving into the kitchen before she can object, he flicks switches, pours milk and assembles both white and brown sugar, finds the cream and silently chants his thanks to his daughter for having already set the water to boil. "I'm useless to you unless I'm awake."

"You sure that's gonna change once you've had coffee?" She smirks, unclasping the flaps on the bag in front of her and removing three heavy looking, and jam packed, folders.

"Ohh, ouch." Castle covers his heart with his hand, pretending to be wounded by her barbed comment before turning to watch her covertly as she arranges things in front of her, fascinated by the fluidity of her movements, the unfurled extension of her wrist.

She arches her back to stretch across the table, methodically arranging pieces of paper before her, the roll of her shoulders brings his focus back up to her head and the sweep of dark hair that hides her face.

Until it doesn't.

"The creepy staring?"

He nods.

"That stops now."

"I can't guarantee that." Castle shrugs, and he looks up from his task of measuring milk to find her standing, hands on her hips and glare in full effect. "Hey, it's not you." She scoffs, at what he has no idea, but he hurries on, "I mean, not that you're not an attractive woman." Castle smirks when color suddenly bursts into her cheeks, a bright pink flush right across the arch of her cheekbones. "Clearly you are, a very _very _ beautiful..."

She knocks one of the folders from the table, papers scattering wildly and Castle hears her curse under her breath, dropping down low to pick things up.

"Here." He comes around the counter and drops down next to her, "Let me help." He holds out the empty file folder as she shoves the letters, drawings and photos back inside. "This is all my fan mail?"

"Not all, just a few of the ones that we flagged as concerning." Balancing on the balls of her feet, Beckett shuffles a few papers and hands them to him, "Sometimes, in cases like this," She gestures around, reminding him that he isn't fully versed on what kind of case _this _ is, "we find the ah..."

"Suspect?" He offers.

"For want of a better word, yes. We find the _suspect_ sometimes tries to contact the-"

"Contact the subject of their obsession." He finishes for her nodding, his eyes bright. "I'm pretty well versed in-"

"I've also had a few cases where it's turned out to be a publicity stunt orchestrated by a desperate fame seeker whose celebrity status is waning." He flinches and she smirks, "That wouldn't be the case now would it, Castle?"

"'Storm Fall' is currently number one on every bestseller list in the country," He grins, leaning forwards and taking another sheet of paper from her hands, "My celebrity status is not in question." She blinks at him, her head angled to one side as if she's trying to puzzle him out and he finds himself suddenly desperate to bring that flush back to her cheeks. "And, do you know, you have gorgeous eyes?"

It comes so far out of left field that she gapes at him, those gorgeous eyes - and he wasn't lying before when he said that, they truly are spectacular- flaring with something just a tad dangerous.

She snatches the file from his hand and practically jumps to her feet, stuttering her way through a breath of combined annoyance and embarrassment, "I take it you don't object to me going through your fan mail?"

He shakes his head, rising slowly, "Whatever you need, Beckett." He tosses out casually as he heads back to finish fixing their coffee, he grins over the counter and she rolls her eyes settling herself back at the table. "Whatever you need."

* * *

"Here." He shoves aside some of the papers in front of her and Kate finds herself staring up at him in annoyance, "Who am I to deny a woman her one vice?" Castle grins smugly, sliding the mug into the empty space.

"This isn't my vice." Her fingertips touch at the mug reluctantly, the warmth leeching into her hands. It smells wonderful and he's obviously played it safe, white with sugar, she assumes, from the smell. It's not her favorite, it's not even her usual but it does smell so, so good.

She rearranges the papers ignoring the way he continues to stare at her. He looks so confused, palming his eyes and roughing the remnants of sleep from his hair, and Kate bites down at the inside of her lip when he speaks. "You said everyone was allowed one."

"I did." She lifts the mug he offers to her lips, hiding her smile. "I never said mine was _coffee_."

* * *

His dining room table is covered with folders, copies of his fan-mail spilling out across the wooden surface, when he emerges from his bedroom, now fully dressed, and Castle freezes at the sight of his daughter.

"Woah." He cries flinging his hands up and making a beeline for her.

Alexis is sitting at the table, eyes wide, a worn copy of a hand written letter held tight in her hands, "Oh, Dad, I just..."

"You know I don't like you reading this stuff."

"But Dad, this one's so funny." His smiling teen folds away whatever was making her giggle, snagging another envelope from the pile before he can stop her. He glances at Beckett, as if expecting her to back him up, to grab the letter from the girls hand, maybe use the authoritative tone that got him out of bed. But she's too engrossed in her work.

"It's disturbing." Beckett grimaces, pushing away another letter.

"All my fan-mail is disturbing, it's an occupational hazard."

"This one is anyway..." Alexis lifts her head, turning the paper in one direction as she rotates her neck in the other, trying to figure out exactly what she is, "OH MY GOD." Alexis shoves herself back from the table, "That is...is that what I think...?"

"And that, darling daughter of mine, is why you-

"_Never ever read the fan-mail_." They recite in unison.

"Can that rule apply to me too?" Beckett asks, taking the letter from Alexis and working her lips like there is a bad taste in her mouth. She carefully folds away whatever is in her hand - and now seared forever in her mind.

"They're not all that bad." Alexis appeases, offering her father an innocent grin when he glares at her, "If I'd read them, which I haven't."

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Castle yanks on the end of her braid as he walks past her, heading back into the kitchen, "Or are you making your old man proud and-"

"No." Alexis stands, shaking her head and straightening her uniform, waving her hand in dismissal of whatever out of character fun adventure his imagination plans to send her on. "Someone in this family has to be responsible, I'm leaving now." She grins at her father as he huffs in annoyance, clattering cups and pans to aid in his mock tantrum.

"If you insist." He turns and she's behind him, her arms wrapping around his waist.

"I do." She squeezes tight, lifting up so she can whisper, "Listen to Beckett, Dad, take it seriously. Some of those letters give me the creeps."

"Me too kiddo." He squeezes her tight, his eyes settling on the pile of folders at Beckett's feet. The little collection she's deliberately set aside and kept out of his daughters sight. "Me too."


End file.
